


Rubato

by MiniNephthys



Category: Fate/Grand Order
Genre: Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, phantom narrating is weird
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-06
Updated: 2019-06-06
Packaged: 2020-04-11 14:38:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19111720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiniNephthys/pseuds/MiniNephthys
Summary: Christine says he isn't hideous.  Erik must have gone madder still.





	Rubato

**Author's Note:**

> friend: a lot of evil servants get chances to show depth or positive traits but phantom doesn't  
> me: I'm on it  
> me:  
> me: why is this smut now

Mental pollution, they call it. A madness such that even a Berserker may more clearly profess their love than he.

How he envies Kiyohime, who can so clearly proclaim herself her Master’s wife. He tries, but the words fail. His voice is not beautiful enough, not like Christine’s. Nothing like Christine’s, for there is no voice that even approaches his.

His. Erik knows, for his madness is not quite great enough to mistake a man for a woman. Christine is a young man with eyes like the oceans and a voice like the heavens. It doesn’t matter. His Christine is Christine is Christine, is beauty itself. Erik would worship at his feet, but a creature so hideous should not be permitted to touch such perfection.

“I don’t think you’re hideous,” Christine says in his room one day.

Madness. It’s his madness that tells him his Master sitting beside him says those words, for it would be even madder to say them. “Christine… your voice, I can’t hear it…”

“You aren’t ugly,” Christine says, louder this time. “Your taste in masks is a little questionable, but that’s not the same thing. And your claws…” Without fear, he reaches for Erik’s hand, and Erik forgets that an unworthy abomination like himself should not profane his Master’s soft hand with his talons. “…I think they’re kind of cool?”

Christine is holding his hand. Christine’s pure voice is telling him the words he’s never heard before, never dreamed of hearing. If this is all a delusion, Erik will give up the remains of his mind to it without regret.

“Christine, my love, my soul-” Can he touch him? He does not dare to lest his trembling claws mar such perfection. But oh, he wants to, wants to adore his body the way he adores his voice. He wants, he desires, he needs and he needs not to hurt his beautiful Christine.

His bloodstained hands are unworthy, but if any part of him is beautiful enough, then the mouth that creates the songs Christine thanked him for-

Christine tastes the way he sounds, or sweeter still. Erik gorges on his lips, and just as greedily draws out Christine’s voice with his kisses. His Master sings for him in sighs and gasps, a melody only for his ears, and he wants for nothing but to continue the song.

His Master hides too much of his beauty. For once, he is grateful for these claws.

Now Erik plays at conductor, directing Christine’s voice with every kiss upon his skin. As conductor he must know his Master’s body as intimately as his voice, must read the signals of Christine’s pleasure as fluently as he reads music. Christine is music in human form - Christine is beauty incarnate, and every moan only further proves that.

With him between Christine’s legs, the song jumps in tempo. Erik tastes the fanfare and seeks to take it further within himself.

Forte, with his Master’s hand in his hair. Fortissimo, accented by the staccato movement of Christine’s hips. Sforzando, a final crescendo-

The song reaches its climax as Christine does. Erik drinks in both.

When he pulls away, it’s only to rest his head against his Master’s leg. “I love you. I love you so, my Master. Only give me your voice and I shall be happy for eternity.”


End file.
